


The James Bond Reprise

by RisenHunterFallenAngel



Series: Bond Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Baking, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Human Castiel, Implied Sexual Content, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Pie, Roommates, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5325062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisenHunterFallenAngel/pseuds/RisenHunterFallenAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has plans, but tosses them aside in favor of a lazy day at home with Cas. </p><p>You won't find much plot here. Frankly, this is just an excuse for domestic!Destiel fluff & cuddles (and also a self-indulgent dose of Dean epitomizing boyfriend goals). </p><p>This is sort of like a College!AU continuation to my HighSchool!AU fic "James Bond, Eat Your Heart Out", but you absolutely needn't have read it to understand any part of this fic. Both stories can stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The James Bond Reprise

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a Destiel High School AU called "James Bond, Eat Your Heart Out" a little while back, and wasn't quite ready to say goodbye to that universe, but I didn't want to disturb what I considered to be a finished story, either. So, I decided to leave the HS!AU untouched and write a College!AU continuation. This is the result. Enjoy!

Dean wakes suffused with the warmth of the midmorning sun. There’s an intermittent breeze passing through the barely-open window that washes over him in waves and rustles the row of little potted plants Castiel keeps on the sill. A thick band of light streams in steadily through the warped panes of aged glass, reflecting off of the white-washed brick walls and giving the room a faint, comfortable glow. But what Dean perhaps finds most comfortable is the way that Castiel is curled into him, his back against Dean’s chest. The inches of their skin pressed together provides more warmth than the sun could ever hope to, and Dean sighs contently when Castiel nestles just a fraction closer to him in his sleep. His lips are pursed against the nape of Cas’s neck, and try as he might, he can’t stop himself from capitalizing on their placement, peppering open-mouthed kisses across his neck and between his shoulder blades. 

Dean’s ministrations eventually succeed in drawing Castiel out of his slumber, and while Cas would like to give in to the stirring of arousal that they evoke from within him, he’s still too worn out from their late-night tryst to allow himself the pleasure. Instead, he rolls over, tucks his head under Dean’s chin, and drapes an arm across his middle. “Sleep.” He says, and slips back into incoherence before Dean can ask whether the assertion was an order or a declaration of his own intentions. He feels half-inclined to wake Castiel again, because he's feeling rather peckish and wanted to treat Cas to brunch at his favorite Dim sum place a few blocks down, but he decides against it. He ignores his grumbling stomach, and wills himself to fall asleep again. They seldom ever get the chance to lie in together like this, what with conflicting work and class schedules, so Dean can’t find it in himself to mind that he’ll have to abandon his plans for the day — not if doing so means that he gets to hold on to Cas for a little while longer. 

______________________________________________________________________________________

A little while longer manifests itself into quite a while longer, so it seems. By the time Dean wakes again, the analog clock hanging on the opposite side of the room reads half-past two, and it couldn’t have been later than 10 when he first woke up. The sun casts an almost blistering warmth into the bedroom, and while Dean entertains the thought of basking in it, he doesn’t much see the point once he comes to realize the absence of Cas’s body against his. He clambers awkwardly out of the bed - it consists only of a frameless mattress on the ground, per Castiel’s insistence - and dons a pair of pyjama bottoms he manages to find littering the floor. He is wholly unsuccessful in finding a shirt, though, and grumbles his indifference as he trudges in a somnolent haze to find his boyfriend. 

He had expected Cas to be showering or brewing tea, as he was wont to do upon waking up, but neither the bathroom nor the kitchen were occupied. Dean knocks on Benny’s door to ask him if he knows where Cas has gone off to, but no voice supplies an answer. After a silent, ponderous moment, Dean’s sleep-muddled mind recalls that Benny works a shift at the diner on Saturday afternoons, and he therefore tries Jo’s room, with better result. He hasn’t even brought his hand up to knock on her doorframe before she supplies, “He’s watching movies, dumbass,” without looking up from her schoolwork. Dean simultaneously flips her the bird and mumbles his appreciation before traipsing through the halls to the living room. 

Cas is indeed watching movies, sprawled out across the loveseat with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. He’s eating cereal from a mug, and is evidently riveted by whatever is playing on the television, because he doesn’t notice Dean's presence until a kiss is pressed atop his head. Cas tilts his head back to look at Dean, and beams. “Hi,” he breathes. 

He looks so adorable, clad in bumblebee boxers and what was once Dean’s sweater that a wave of affection surges through the Winchester at the sight. “Hi,” he echoes, his voice a chuckle of breathless adoration. He leans over to kiss Cas’s cheek, and lingers there. “What are you watching?” 

An explosion from the screen draws Cas’s attention back to the film, and he absently curls into himself to give Dean room to sit. “Skyfall.” He replies. 

“James Bond. Sweet.” Dean assumes his place next to Castiel, drawing him close into his side. “How far into it are you?”

“It’s just about finished. There’s no more than 20 minutes left. We can watch another movie afterwards, if you want.” 

“Nah, I’m pretty hungry. Do you wanna grab some grub when it’s done?” 

Cas looks at Dean guiltily. “I’m sorry I made you sleep through breakfast… and lunch.” He holds out his mug of Lucky Charms as a gesture of solidarity. “Do you wanna share?”

And he looks so goddamn genuine that Dean erupts into laughter, the force of it startling Cas so effectively that he nearly spills the cereal all over them. “Thanks, Cas.” Dean wheezes, “Your soggy, leftover cereal more than makes up for the Dim sum I was planning on having today.” 

Castiel’s brow furrows, “You have never particularly cared for Dim sum, Dean.” 

Dean shrugs. “Yeah, but you love it.”

Realization dawns on Castiel, his lips parting in a surprised ‘o’, lines of worry etching across his forehead. “You… you were going to take me out.”

Dean refocuses his attention on the film. “We’ll go another time, it’s no big deal.” 

But Cas isn't convinced, and he gnaws at his bottom lip for a moment before confusion clouds over his features. “But... you never get Saturdays off, Dean.” He cocks his head to the side. “Why aren’t you at work?” Then his eyes go wide, searching. “Did you take off work today so we could go out? Fuck, Dean, I’m so, so, sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise! Shit. I’ll -” His flustered apology tangles on his tongue. 

And Dean has never been good with words, has never been eloquent enough to articulate how he feels, and he doesn’t quite know how to tell Cas that everything’s alright. 

But what Dean learned long ago is that just because he’s no good with words, doesn’t mean that his mouth is entirely useless. 

He grabs hold of Cas’s head in his hands and pulls it forward, cutting his bumbling apology short with a brief, searing kiss. “It’s okay,” he insists, upon pulling back. He then repeatedly presses kisses to the worried lines on Cas’s forehead until he feels them ease beneath his lips.

“But-”

“Cas, baby, there’s gonna be other Saturdays.” Dean says. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Castiel relaxes in Dean’s hands, but there’s uncertainty in his eyes. “I wasted your entire morning off, Dean. You should be angry.” 

Dean shakes his head. “I didn’t take off work, Cas.” He spares a moment to appreciate his boyfriend’s puzzled expression before he continues: “I wanted to take you out ‘cause I have some news I wanted to tell you.” Cas raises an eyebrow questioningly, eyes wide and wondering, which evokes a bout of chuckles from Dean. “Christ, Cas, you’re gonna make me tell you now, aren't you?” Cas blushes and grins sheepishly, then nods the affirmative. 

Dean succumbs. 

“Mom and Ellen schemed together to get Bobby to change my work schedule around so I’d have Saturdays off, with you. They said something about being concerned that I wasn’t paying you enough attention and that you’d leave me, but I’m pretty sure Mom just wants me to bring you ‘round to hers for dinner more often.” He pulls Cas’s hand to his lips, kisses the inside of his wrist. “Anyway, Bobby had to cut a few of my shifts to make my new schedule work around my classes, so Ellen’s gonna let me work some nights at the Roadhouse to make up for it. But now, I get to spend every Saturday with you.”

Cas stares at Dean, disbelieving, an incipient smile forming at the corners of his lips. He abandons his mug of unwanted cereal on the coffee table. “Every Saturday?”

“Every. Last. One.” Dean confirms, punctuating each word with a chaste kiss to Cas's palm. 

Cas draws Dean in to kiss him properly, smiling against his lips, and tangles a hand in his hair. He cages Dean’s hips between his knees, straddling him, and uses his free hand to push Dean back into the cushions. “We’re going to your mother’s for dinner next Saturday, and I’m buying her one hell of a bouquet of ‘thank you’ flowers,” He says, and then he latches his mouth to Dean’s neck. 

“She’d like that.” Dean strains to say, his breath hitching when Cas bites at his collarbone. 

Cas’s mouth continues to travel downwards across Dean’s chest. His blue, lust-blown eyes meet Dean’s green ones as his tongue dips into his navel and he says, filthily and depraved: “Oh? And what would you like, Dean?” as though they hadn’t just been discussing the woman who practically raised Cas and calls him ‘the most polite, respectful young man’ she’s ever met. 

Dean, debauched as he is, can’t utter any coherent words though, not once Castiel’s warm, wet mouth trails over the single layer of fabric concealing his growing erection, his hands toying with the waistband of his pants. Castiel begins inching them downwards, ever so slowly, and he says: “Tell me what you want, Dean.”

And Dean can taste the word forming on his tongue. Through the heat that’s coursing through his veins and the weight of Castiel’s gaze on him and the desire that’s overpowering all of his senses and faculties, he can feel the desperate 'please’ working its way out of him. His lips press together to articulate the first sound of the lone word, and then…

… His terrible, torturous stomach releases an earth-shakingly powerful rumble of apocalyptic proportions. 

 

Cas freezes, and pushes himself up to peer at Dean, who feels his cheeks burn red, and claps a hand over his eyes to shield them from Cas’s scrutinizing gaze. “God, Cas, please ignore that. Please, babe.” He risks a peek through his fingers at his tented pants, then at Cas. “C’mon, baby, please don’t leave me hanging.” 

For what feels like several thousand eternities, Cas says and does nothing. He then abruptly dissolves into laughter, leans over to press a kiss to Dean’s flushed cheek, and clambers off of him. “Cas, where are you going? Please come back.” Dean pleads. 

But Castiel doesn’t appease him. Instead, he waltzes into the kitchen, cool as you like, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he supplies: “I’m making you something to eat.” 

A moment later, he peeks back into the living room and adds, “Watch the rest of the movie while you wait.”

Dean groans, hapless. 

The credits started rolling the moment Castiel left. 

______________________________________________________________________________________

Cas returns not ten minutes later, handing Dean a BLT and a bag of chips, and retreating back into the kitchen. 

Dean doesn’t see him again until he himself enters the kitchen an hour and a half later, after a long, cold shower and a scolding from Jo regarding the traumatizing moans she had heard emanating from the living room that afternoon. There’s flour covering the floor and the counters, and apple peels spilling out of the too-full trash can. Cas is at the stove, stirring something in a pot and balancing his phone between his shoulder and his ear. “So I stew the apples, put the filling in the crust, and then bake it?” He asks. The voice on the other end of the line sounds only like a faint buzz to Dean, but it must tell Cas that he’s erred, because Cas groans and turns the burner off. “Oh. Right. I bake the bottom crust first. I understand now. Thank you, Mary.” Mrs. Winchester says something to Cas that has him biting back a laugh as Dean sneaks up behind him, laying his chin on his shoulder and snaking his arms around his waist. “Yes, I’ll tell Dean that he needs to call you more often.” Cas promises, and Dean snatches the phone from under Cas’s ear. 

“Hey, Mom. We’ll come ‘round for dinner next week, but right now we’ve gotta go because Cas set off the fire alarm. Love you!” He hangs up, and slides the phone into his back pocket to ensure that Cas doesn’t try to call Mary again. 

“That was rude, Dean. The alarm didn’t go off.” He doesn’t turn to look at the Winchester, but rather, stares, daunted, at a misshapen ball of dough on the counter. 

“Mom doesn’t know that. Besides, I can help you make pie. Why didn’t you ask me?” 

Cas sighs, and takes a rolling pin in hand. “I wanted to surprise you. I thought pie would be the best way to apologize for having ruined your morning. ” 

Dean kisses behind Cas’s ear. “You didn’t ruin anything, Cas. I promise. Sleeping in was really, really nice.” He eyes the pot of stewed apples hungrily. “Don’t get me wrong though, I’m totally stoked for pie.”

Cas groans. “Don’t be. This is already trial two. I don’t have high hopes that this will be a success.” He attempts to roll out the dough, but it sticks stubbornly to the pin. Cas curses. Loudly, and creatively. 

Dean laughs, his breath hot on the back of Castiel’s neck. “You need more flour.” He says. 

“What?”

“You need to put flower on the rolling pin so that the dough doesn’t stick to it. You’ll actually be able to roll it out, then.” He rubs flour from the counter onto the rolling pin, and then wraps his hands over Cas’s on the handles. “And don’t press too hard,” he says, guiding the movement of the pin to flatten the dough into an approximate circle. “Otherwise the crust might be too thin.” When the dough looks about right, Dean ceases the rolling. “See? Easy. Why don’t I put this bottom crust to bake while you roll out the top crust.” 

“Okay.” Cas says, and he turns his head to kiss the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Thank you, Dean.” 

“Anytime. I’m gonna step out real quick to get some vanilla ice cream for the pie. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.” Cas smiles. “Oh! And can you buy a can of whipped cream, too?” 

Dean winks, shrugging on his leather jacket. “Anything you want, Cas.” 

 

______________________________________________________________________________________

Dean returns fifteen minutes later with the promised items. “Is the pie in the oven?”

Cas doesn’t look up from sweeping the floor to answer, but he beams to himself, clearly pleased. “Yes. Jo has already come in to tell me that she demands a piece.”

There’s a streak of flour dusted across the arch of his cheekbone, and Dean steps forward to wipe it off with the pad of his thumb. The touch catches Cas off guard, makes his eyes snap up to gaze at Dean curiously. “... you erm, had some…” Dean loses his train of thought when he zeros in on the intensity of Cas’s gaze, suffocating under the weight of it. “Cas, how long until the pie is ready?” He asks, his voice a guttural whisper. 

Cas swallows. “40 minutes.”

Dean takes the broom from Cas’s hands, and leans it against the counter. He then steps forward, trapping Cas between his body and the island. “40 minutes is a long time, Cas,” he says, his voice an octave deeper than usual. “We could get a lot done. Like, say, put on the last 20 minutes of Skyfall and finish what we started earlier?” 

Cas pulls Dean in by the collar of his jacket for a slow, languid kiss. “I wish we could,” he says, with a gentle nip at Dean’s lower lip, “but Jo also came in here to tell me that if she ever hears anything questionable coming from the living room again, she’s moving out of the apartment. The piece of pie I promised her is a consolation prize for the ‘trauma’ she experienced today. That, and the promise that I’d disinfect the couch by tomorrow morning, even though I tried to tell her that nothing actually transpired on it.” 

With a final peck to Cas’s lips, Dean smirks, takes his boyfriend's hand in his, and guides him to the living room. “You know what, Cas? Let Jo have the whole damn pie.”

“Why?” Cas manages, through a dry throat and hammering heart. 

Dean sits on the sofa, and peels off his jacket, throwing it aimlessly into a corner of the room. “Cause you and I are about to give her a real reason to want this sofa disinfected,” he replies, and pulls Cas down on top of him.

**Author's Note:**

> The end (for now)! I hope that was satisfactory. Please leave me with some of your thoughts and/or criticisms. I'd love to know what you did or didn't like. Thanks for reading!


End file.
